


Violation

by crackinthecup



Series: Ends and Beginnings [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Sex, M/M, Melkor is his own warning tbh, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: Mairon finds himself on the receiving end of one of Melkor’s less than gentle moods.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Ends and Beginnings [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112774
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	Violation

Melkor was angry.

Mairon knew he had been stewing in it for days, sparked off by a failed experiment with a new type of combustible projectile. Melkor had reacted harshly and had ordered him to find and fix the mistake in his chemical formulations. Mairon had set himself to the task with unbreakable focus, privately relieved that he could spend most of his time in his quarters avoiding Melkor. He knew from bitter experience that Melkor’s moods were best left to burn themselves out on their own.

So when a messenger knocked on his door late at night, informing him that Melkor requested his presence in his chambers immediately, his heart sank. He knew better than to hope that Melkor’s intentions were innocent. But he could not refuse, out of a sense of duty, out of reluctance to disobey Melkor so overtly when he was already in a foul mood.

Melkor received him coldly. He seemed tense, tightly strung from nursing his anger for so long. Mairon schooled his expression into a carefully neutral mask as he opened his mouth to ask Melkor why he had summoned him.

Melkor cut him off.

“Strip,” he ordered without preamble, pinning him with an oddly empty stare.

Sudden nausea twisted in Mairon’s stomach. He didn’t think he would ever get used to this: this sense of wrongness, of being used, leaving him feeling hurt and vulnerable for reasons he refused to think too deeply about.

“No, my lord –” he began, knowing all too well that it was futile.

Melkor sighed irritably, striding over to him with sudden, terrifying purpose and backhanding him full across the face. Mairon stumbled back several paces with the force of the blow, back colliding with the wall. A soft whimper escaped his lips, but whether it was born of the ache pounding across his jaw or the traitorous heat swirling in his belly, he could not tell.

Melkor reached for him in chill silence, and somehow that was worse than if he had rebuked him for his refusal.

“Please, my lord, I don’t want this, not like this,” Mairon tried again, horror loosening his tongue, but Melkor wasn’t listening. He closed his fingers around Mairon’s upper arm in a vise-like grip, yanking him towards the bed and carelessly throwing him face-first upon the sheets.

Mairon scrambled to kneel up, to move away before Melkor could touch him again. But Melkor was already there, hands at his hips, bodily flipping him over. He was too stunned to react when Melkor gripped the hem of his tunic, roughly tugging it over his head and throwing it to the floor. Melkor then turned his attention to the lacings on his breeches, tearing them open and yanking his trousers off along with his shoes.

An awful sense of vulnerability washed over Mairon at his sudden nakedness. He closed his legs, desperately trying to tamp down the panic writhing all sharp and breathless in his chest.

“Don’t…” Mairon said as Melkor reached for him again, more out of reflex than any real hope that his master would have a change of heart. Melkor’s hands slid between his clenched thighs and wrenched them apart with horrifying ease.

“I tire of your complaints, Mairon,” Melkor snarled, stilling his attempt at squirming away by digging his fingers into the tender flesh of his inner thighs with bruising force. One of his hands slipped from him to free the lacings on his own breeches as he continued in a flat, harsh tone: “Keep quiet. We have done this before.”

At his words, some small, delicate thing in Mairon’s chest seemed to snap clean in half. He stopped trying to resist. His eyes slipped upwards to stare at the ceiling. If Melkor wanted a _thing_ to use on his cruel whims, then so be it, he thought bitterly. He just wished Melkor would get it over with quickly.

Melkor grabbed a vial of oil from the bedside drawer, mechanically slicking himself up and stroking himself to full hardness. He grasped Mairon’s thighs with rough carelessness, lifting them up and around his waist. The tip of Melkor’s cock brushed against him, and he could not stop himself from flinching. He tensed in anticipation of the pain to come.

But Melkor did not breach him, not yet. He paused, leaning in to kiss Mairon on the lips, a tender, coaxing kiss at odds with the angry bruises left throbbing over his hips and thighs.

Tears sprang unbidden to Mairon’s eyes and he desperately blinked them away. A profound chasm of grief and yearning cracked open in his stomach, cutting through his numbness. He kissed Melkor back with a brutality that surprised even himself, pouring into it the maddening emotions that crashed and tangled together in his chest. His bottom lip scraped against Melkor’s teeth; blood pooled on his tongue, filling his mouth with its heady taste. He threw his arms around Melkor’s shoulders, frantically pulling him close with no regard for the submission Melkor expected of him, as if through their proximity he could pretend that he actually wanted this.

But Melkor would not allow it. He wrestled his wrists to the mattress, holding him down as he sheathed himself to the hilt inside of him in one savage thrust. Mairon broke their kiss, turning his head aside as pain ripped through his pelvis. He choked back a scream, forcing himself to breathe, in and out, in and out.

Melkor gave him no time to adjust; he instantly set a punishing rhythm between his legs. Mairon tried to think of something else, but his mind could not wander far before he was sharply jerked back into his body, Melkor fucking him so violently that the impact of each thrust jarred up his spine. And as the initial sting slowly faded, as Melkor adjusted the angle of his thrusts to graze against his prostate, Mairon desperately threw himself into the tentative pleasure of it. He did not care that it was debased, not here amid the hot press of bodies, not when the alternative was to feel so thoroughly used that nausea burned up his throat.

Melkor shifted his grip on his wrists so he was holding them both down with one hand. His other hand groped downwards towards his cock, bringing him to full hardness with firm, experienced strokes. Heady ardour crashed through Mairon at the pleasurable familiarity of Melkor’s touch, muscles tensing around his master’s length buried deep inside of him. Melkor gasped at the sensation, and Mairon arched his hips to take him deeper still, suddenly needing to draw another gasp from Melkor’s lips, to crack his cold, harsh exterior, to steal some small measure of control over their coupling.

Each pass of Melkor’s hand over his cock found his tip drooling, his flesh almost distressed in the tightness of his grip. But the intensity of the sensation, teetering on the edge between pain and pleasure, dulled all other feelings, and for that Mairon was grateful. He tossed his head back, moaning loudly as Melkor sank his teeth into the tender skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. And at that blazing sting, the warm wetness of blood spilling from the bite, he came undone.

His orgasm gripped him hard, hips helplessly rolling up against Melkor, seed spurting across his master’s shirt and the bare skin of his own abdomen. As if from a great distance he heard Melkor say something that might have been his name as he rutted into him through his own climax.

All too quickly the tremors of his ecstasy faded. In their wake his heartbeat sounded warped and deafening in his ears, keeping time with the pounding ache between his legs, leaving him feeling strangely hollow as though his insides had been scooped out.

Melkor withdrew from him in silence and he bit back a groan as his softening length dragged across flesh left raw and hurting. He numbly ignored his master settling himself on his side next to him. Melkor had gotten what he wanted. A visceral sense of violation settled over Mairon like a palpable weight, deadening heart and limb alike. He was in no mood to stay for whatever other twisted games his master had in mind.

“May I go now, my lord?” he asked quietly, staring at the ceiling.

Melkor did not immediately reply. Fingers grazed over his jaw, coaxing his head to the side to meet Melkor’s eyes with a gentleness that made him want to run to his bathing chamber and scrub his skin raw.

“Are you hurt?” Melkor asked him in turn, voice oddly distant.

His anger had dissipated. He seemed tired. He drew the pad of his thumb over Mairon’s cheekbone, delicately tracing the darkening bruise there from where he had backhanded him earlier. Something immense swelled against Mairon’s ribcage at the touch, anger and hurt and sick, stupid longing all snarled together in his chest.

“No,” he lied to his master. Melkor stared at him for long seconds, and he forced himself to return his gaze as impassively as he could.

He felt almost sick with relief when Melkor finally sighed, giving him a curt nod and letting his hand slip fully from his cheek. “If you wish.”

Mairon picked himself up, rolling out of bed, trying not to wince as pain cramped through his pelvis. He put his clothes back on in silence, flinging his hair over his face so he wouldn’t have to look at his master still lying in bed, gazing at him strangely. He took his leave as fleetly as he could on shaky legs, and forced himself not to glance back.


End file.
